Balthazar Nzomono-Balenda
La Jeunesse
Conduire vite
Sans maîtrise
Mourir bêtement
Un cercueil à 4 roux
Le sang sur l’avenue
Le gaz dans le sang
Les larmes des mères coulent
Elles tombent comme les goutes de pluie
Le fer se transforme en arbre
L’arbre devient le sable
Et la vie devient nulle.
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Published on e-Stories.org on 10/23/2006.
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